


What Dreams May Come

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Series: Mathomathon 2008 [8]
Category: Blake's 7
Genre: F/F, F/M, Memory Alteration, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Post Gauda Prime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 22:04:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soolin is cool towards her employer/sex partner, Servalan. Soolin remains cool even under fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Dreams May Come

**Author's Note:**

> Hobbits give gifts to others on their birthday. A Mathom is a useless, but too good to throw away, Hobbit gift. Like a knick knack.
> 
> Back in 2008 I held a Mathomathon on my LJ for my birthday, asking my friends to request me to write fic. I wound up starting the day before my birthday, so none of them are long, but everyone got a fic. :^)  
> crycraven's prompt:
> 
> Soolin/any other female character, (any rating you like but at least a decent bit of snogging...) ANGST, sleepwalking, the colour green, a burn on a carpet and the phrase 'Devil's advocate.'

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

I find myself in front of the refrigeration unit, with a knife in my hand. 

"Soolin. Wake up. Wake up now."

I blink and look at my lover. "I did it again?" I put the knife down on the counter. "I suppose I was hungry."

She smiles at me. "Yes, well, as long as we're both up." She pulls me into her arms, and I go willingly. Why not, she smells good and she's very talented. We're really both too butch to make a proper pair, but the sex is good, and besides, she's my employer. I've always found it convenient to fuck the boss. They don't really expect you to love them, which is fine by me, because I forgot how to love people a very long time ago. So I kiss Sleer and fondle her breasts and slide my hand down the roundness of her belly to the crisp curls at her groin, longer, and not so velvety as the hair on her head. I tug on the hair because she likes a bit of roughness. She moans and spreads her legs. I take the hint and suck on a couple of fingers while keeping my eyes locked with hers, and then I play with her clit until she cries out and clenches around my fingers. 

Then she goes back to bed, and I wash my hands and pick up the knife again. There's a cold roast, but when I take it out I realize I'm not hungry after all. I shrug and put everything away tidily. I learned that a long time ago, too. If you can't lay your hands on a gun or knife when you need it, you may as well not have one.

B7B7B7

"Bother." I look down at the contents of a whole bottle of vitamin pills now floating in the toilet. That's what happens when you don't get enough sleep. Shaking hands are really not a good advertisement for a gunguard, so naturally I don't mention it to Sleer. I flush them away and forget about them. I only take them because Sleer insists. Sometimes she acts like a mother hen. I'll pick up another bottle at the dispensary when I have time. It looks like being a busy week, though.

Sleer's running for Council, you see, and we're all over Earth, meeting and greeting, and probably blackmailing and coercing, from the reactions. It was amusing at first to watch these powerful and influential people grovel, but after a while, it just leaves a bad taste in my mouth. People shouldn't be such cowards. You can only die once, after all, but you can be scared as many times as you allow it.

As the week goes on, you'd think Sleer would be less interested in sex, but no, the less sleep she has and the more stress, the hungrier she is for it, and the rougher she likes it. She asks me for more and more, and begins to get quite kinky. Well, nothing like Dorian. I sleepwalk twice more, both times being awakened by strangers. This is becoming a nuisance. When I have time, I'll look into it. Oddly enough, I feel sharp, despite the lack of sleep.

B7B7B7

"Candles!" Sleer looks around with pleasure at the archaic guest room her latest host/victim has provided. Apparently word has got 'round about her appreciation for old and tacky things. The room belongs in a museum. There's something about the green shaggy carpet in particular that makes me queasy. She goes on, "I think. Yes. I think I should like you to try candlewax on my nipples, Soolin."

She's not paying attention to me as a person. I don't really mind. She's not my friend, after all, just my lover and employer. I nod and smile. So far she's not asked to do anything painful to me, so I have no complaints. We strip each other, and this time she kneels and kisses and licks me until I come. I _really_ have no complaints about her skill or enthusiasm.

Then she lies on the bed, spread out pink and white and black, like a... I don't know what she reminds me of. It's like one of the silly riddles Vila used to tell, what's black and white and red all over, and no matter how many of the answers you memorized, he always had ano... I remember something black and white and red all over.

Avon.

Lying there. Bloody and with his face gone all slack and blank. Really blank. Not the way it would get after we had sex, when he'd relax a little, and kiss my breast, and be so absurdly gentle, the way he could be when no one was watching. I didn't mind having sex with him at all. He wasn't half as skilled as Sleer, but you could tell he was totally honest about it. 

"Soolin!" 

Sleer's sharp voice brings me back to myself and I see I've dropped the candle on the carpet. It's smoldering. Old and not fire-resistant. And the color reminds me of Virrn. Of how Tarrant slept with ...Servalan... because of the sand. Because of the pills? I look up at Servalan and smile.

I tell her, "It's all right, darling, only a little burn. No harm done at all." I move towards the bed again, and I hear Avon whispering in my ear, playing Devils' advocate. _'Soolin,'_ I imagine him saying, _'don't do it. You'll die if you do, and why should you? You didn't love any of us. So she's a monster. The universe is full of them. It won't make any difference, really.'_

I smile at Servalan and then I put the pillow over her face and push down with all my strength. I don't mind the scratches. I don't mind anything, really.

I just do what I need to do.

When I'm quite sure I've finished the job the room is full of smoke. I put the pillow under her head and straighten her limbs. After all, she was my employer. Then I lie down next to her and fall asleep.

B7B7B7

"Soolin!"

I blink and look at the little man who was Servalan's last host. "What happened? How did I get here?" 

"You were sleep-walking." He scrubs at his hands nervously. "You woke me up and told me to get everyone out, that there was a fire." His eyes go to my naked body, and then away. Suddenly his features sharpen. "Where's Sleer? Isn't she with you?"

I look back at the house, at the smoke pouring from the archaic windows, and the archaic fire control systems pathetically squirting water on the bright orange flames bursting under the roof. "I thought so. I suppose I was mistaken."


End file.
